


Prickly Thorn, but Sweetly Worn

by khasael



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Fluff, Hedgehog Derek, Hedgehogs, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Magic, Spells & Enchantments, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khasael/pseuds/khasael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unhelpful witch gives Stiles a gift he doesn't want. It's hard to say whether Derek is pleased by this or not... although not for the usual reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MajaLi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajaLi/gifts).



> This is basically an AU that deviates sometime around the end of S2. A handful of S3 events did take place in this universe, though they don't adhere to canon entirely – namely, there are characters still alive in this that didn't make it through S3, because I want them here, and I can do that with my authorly god-like powers, muwahahaha. Also, Derek's not had to make one particular sacrifice.
> 
> Also, it must be said that I really have no idea what happened here. I can't figure out if I regret nothing, or everything. As always, thanks to my lovely beta, who just accepts it when I tell her things like "I appear to have written a fic where Derek is a hedgehog," and to MajaLi and Byaghro for demanding this not get shuffled off to the bunny holding area.
> 
> (Edited to include a banner made by the lovely Kayoko)

(banner created by [kayoko](../../../../users/kayoko/pseuds/kayoko))

 

They're sort of at a stalemate, and none of them seems to have any ideas on how to break it. Stiles is breathing hard, a little dizzy from all the running and the adrenaline slamming through him. Even the werewolves look winded, exhausted, and still tense. They're all in a semi-circle behind Derek, who's directly facing the witch that's been giving them so much damned trouble tonight. It isn't supposed to be like this – they'd set out just to talk to her, find out what she was up to, ask her politely but firmly to maybe not do whatever it was on the edge of the old Hale property. But either they've spooked her, she has something to feel guilty about, or she just likes making life hell for a bunch of teenagers (and a couple of adults who aren't exactly winning the 'most mature in town' award, if everyone's being honest).

It doesn't matter, really, Stiles supposes. His hands are at his sides, fingers twitching just a little. Erica and Boyd are at his right, still half-poised to pounce and, on his left, Scott and Isaac are bent down just enough to indicate they're ready to charge the woman at the slightest provocation. Derek's in front of them all, looking like he's trying very hard to keep this from going badly (they're still within the Hale property lines, after all, even if it is all just woods out here). The only one Stiles can't see is Peter.

And wasn't this Peter's idea, anyway, come to think of it?

Stiles's fingers twitch a little more at the realization.

The witch is backed up against a little drop-off. It's too straight for her to scale without the use of claws or rope or a ladder, and it's long enough that she can't just turn a corner or hide behind it. She looks a little wild and panicked, but the scorch marks on Isaac's leather jacket and the traces of the burn-in of bright light on Stiles's retinas prove she's not defenseless.

"Look, there's no need for all this," Derek is saying, and it's not his commanding 'I-am-the-alpha' voice he's using, not even a growl; it's the soft, reasonable version of his normal voice, the one that's higher, smoother and younger-sounding than Stiles always expects. "We just want to talk. This is my family's property, and we just want to make sure there's no – "

"You think I don't know what you are?" the witch says, and there's a wavering of her voice that disappears halfway through the sentence. She shakes her head. "All of you? Five beasts, and the odd little boy with the mostly-untapped spark of magic?"

"Hey, I'm not a little bo– " Stiles interrupts before his voice just vanishes, leaving him blinking in surprise. He opens his mouth to protest whatever the hell she just did, but no sound comes out, like he's a television show on mute.

"And we're not beasts," Derek says, holding his hands up in a placating way. "Actually," he says, with a smile that's not entirely for show, "I'd like to offer my thanks for you being the only person who's ever been able to silence Stiles effectively."

"Hey!" Stiles shoots back, but of course, that's silent, too. What the fuck?

"Not beasts?" the witch says, and she laughs, looking younger than Stiles has originally taken her for. She looks like she's maybe just a few years older than Derek, definitely younger than Peter (and seriously, where the fuck is the oldest Hale family member? How was he always so conveniently missing?) "Wolves who've taken lives, who've attacked others?"

"We're usually attacked first," Scott interjects. Stiles is increasingly annoyed that no one else is getting silenced. "We're not all killers. That's not necessarily our nature."

The witch looks at him coolly, then surveys the group. "No, not all of you have taken the life of another, that's true. As for your true nature, though..." She laughs. "Tell you wolves what. I'll leave your property before the sun sets tomorrow. I'm only here to commune with the entity here in Beacon Hills none of you seem to appreciate. No harm intended. It's more of a spirit quest sort of thing. I only need a few hours beginning at dawn, and then I'll leave peacefully and wilfully. But if you pursue me, I _will_ make you regret it, in ways you can't imagine, and not even your Druidic emissary will be able to make head or tail of it right away. But before I go, I have a little gift for you." She looks right at Stiles as she says that last line, and if that gift isn't Stiles's voice, he's going to be so damned displeased.

"You talk of your nature? Insist you're not beasts? Well, perhaps it might surprise you to find what you're really made of, reflected in a form more animal than human."

Stiles looks around. Scott has that confused puppy look, Boyd is stoic as usual, Isaac looks slightly worried, and both Erica and Derek look distinctly unimpressed. "We're freaking _wolves_ ," Erica mutters, rolling her eyes, and you know, she's got a point. Stiles has never seen any member of the pack as a full-out, walks-on-all-fours wolf before. He remembers digging up Laura, and Peter's freakishly mutated alpha form of course, but that's it. To be honest, he's kind of curious. Scott will probably look like a brain-damaged dog, or that wolf from the Moon Moon meme that Derek is so not a fan of, if his threats when Stiles has showed him different captioned photos are any indication. Erica probably looks really pretty as a wolf, either silver or a little gold. Isaac's probably small, Boyd probably looks more like a Dire Wolf than anything else. And Derek? Who knows, maybe dark and scruffy?

Before he can decide, the witch sings something (sings? Stiles is so not on board with trying that sort of magic. He'll fail at that, hardcore. He sings in the shower, and in the shower only, and only when he knows his dad is at work) and Derek looks like he's been hit with a mild cattle prod with the way he jerks. The pack all makes an instinctive sort of move towards him, but he holds up a hand. "I'm fine," he says roughly, and the betas and Scott all slink back, looking warily at the witch. "She didn't do anything."

"Didn't I?" she says, smirking. It's a far cry from the young woman who looked as panicked and freaked out as the rest of them had felt not two minutes ago, but Stiles figures it's because, really, she's won, as long as she's telling the truth. If she really doesn't mean any harm and really will be gone in under a day's time, Stiles is pretty sure Derek has no intention of harassing her further. He's mellowed out in a lot of ways over the last two years. "Guess you'll see about that. Ta ta, wolves. Sorry, little human, for the voice. Couldn't risk you casting anything, just in case you've learned more than I supposed." She waves her hand, and there's a sensation like cool, clean water running down the back of Stiles's throat. "Remember: don't bother me, and I'll be out of your hair by next sundown." With that, she waves, sings a note that would make the high school choir teacher proud, and disappears with a shimmer.

"What the fuck just happened?" Stiles asks, in perfect unison with Erica, who's giving him an arched eyebrow in response. "Oh thank God, I can talk."

"Of course it was too good to last," Derek says, but his voice sounds weird. Raspy and breathy, like he's just starting to get a good case of laryngitis.

"Are you okay?" Isaac's eyes flick to Derek, but he's mostly still looking around like he's afraid the witch will pop back up, like this was just to lure them into thinking the threat is gone.

"I'm _fine_ ," Derek insists, clearing his throat, which doesn't seem to help. "Now let's get the hell out of here. Everyone back home."

The rest of the wolves all share uneasy looks, but they go – Scott and Isaac back towards Scott's place, Erica and Boyd in another direction, pressed close together. Stiles just stands there for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, my Jeep's kind of a walk..." he says, unsure how to proceed. "But, uh, do you want a ride somewhere? The loft, maybe?"

Derek shakes his head, then seems to realize something. "I'm not going to the loft. But I'm not letting you walk through these woods alone right now, either."

Stiles places a hand over his heart, fluttering his eyelids. "Aw, you _do_ care," he says, heading for where he thinks he'll eventually hit his Jeep. It's kind of crazy how his sense of direction's getting better, even out here in the woods at night. Maybe that'll come in handy some day. "You'd rather I not get killed. You know, I take this as a definite sign we're in a better place than we used to be. I mean, it's probably because you don't want to deal with the corpse of the sheriff's son on your family's property, but hey, I'll just pretend it's a sign you care about all the times I've saved your life – I mean, we've saved each other's lives," he amends, seeing the glower on Derek's face when he looks back over his shoulder to find Derek is actually a lot closer behind him than he's expected.

"She couldn't have kept your voice?" Derek sighs. His own voice sounds weirder than it did just a minute ago. "Come on."

They don't talk any more on their way through the woods, and Stiles doesn't notice that Derek looks pale until they're climbing into the front seat of the Jeep. "Dude. Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, making his way along the dirt road and keeping an eye out for shitty conditions. They're not terribly far from the old Hale house, at least, which is the only place Stiles thinks to go, and Derek hasn't told him otherwise.

"Just drive," is the only response he gets, and Derek then ignores him in favor of leaning his head against the window.

"Yeah, all right, fine," Stiles says, shrugging. Maybe it's just the release of the stress of their little altercation, that's all. He tries not to be a little irritated that he's going to have Derek's greasy forehead print on the inside of the glass. He's pretty sure that wouldn't fly in the Camaro, though.

By the time they get to Derek's place – one of them, anyway – Derek looks worse. He stumbles as he gets out of the truck, then basically falls up the stairs. He's still on his knees when Stiles gets around the Jeep and hits the porch. "Yeah, okay, buddy, let's get you inside, maybe get you a bottle of water and peruse the ol' werewolf first aid kit, probably give Deaton a call," he says, getting his shoulder under Derek's arm and hauling him up. He's not nearly as heavy as usual, or doesn't feel like it. Weird. Also weird is that this isn't the first time he's hauled Derek's unhealthy ass around like this. At least Stiles is pretty sure that, this time, he won't be asked to cut Derek's damned arm off. No bullets involved tonight – definite plus.

He deposits Derek on the cleanest surface he can find – the mattress Derek's been using to sleep on, out here – and is grabbing a bottle of water from where he knows a case is stored in the hall closet that's missing a door, when he hears his name being called. He charges back into the bedroom, not knowing what he can do, but only that the tone of Derek's raspy voice is panicked. "Yeah, it's okay, I'm here, what – "

That's as far as he gets before Derek gives him one last pale, worried look, then disappears where he's lying on the mattress. Oddly enough, his clothes are still here. "What the fuck just happened?" Stiles asks aloud, gaping. "Seriously, did Derek Hale just get Raptured in front of me?" He slowly walks over to the clothes that look like they've been hastily laid out, and just before he gets the courage to lift up the shirt and jacket, something moves inside it.

Stiles yelps and scrambles backwards a little. It's not his manliest moment.

He's recovering from the surprise, crouched in a semi-defensive stance, when he realizes that the movement is localized, and heading in the direction of the neck of Derek's Henley. Stiles peers a little closer (because his self-preservation instinct is apparently still out in the hallway, rooting around for more bottled water), and barks a startled little laugh at what he sees: there's a small snout peeking out of the collar, and then a hedgehog wanders cautiously onto the mattress, free of the trappings of Derek's outfit.

"Derek?" Stiles breathes, unable to help the question. The hedgehog stops, turns its head towards him, and makes a little squeaking, snuffling sound. And then, remarkably, it nods.

For the second time tonight, Stiles has no words.


	2. Chapter 2

"Nope."

It's the first thing Stiles finds himself saying as he stares at the tiny little creature sitting on Derek's mattress. "Nope. Nuh-uh. No freaking way. That did not just happen. Derek fucking Hale did not just up and turn into a fucking hedgehog, right before my eyes." He's still staring at the thing, which is sitting perfectly still on the makeshift bed, eyeing him right back. Stiles is sitting on the floor at the edge of the mattress, where his legs just gave up and left him when that thing fucking _nodded_ at him. 

There's a squeaking noise after another thirty seconds or so, and Stiles cannot believe his life, that he's identifying that noise as conveying irritation and impatience. He leans forward, bringing his face close to the animal. "Derek?" he asks again.

Another squeak. Which, pared with the look Stiles is getting from the thing's tiny face, appears to mean something along the lines of "no shit, dumbass."

Stiles lets his head drop to the mattress, resting on Derek's recently-vacated jeans, and moans. He's allowed some theatrics. The snarky, pain-in-the-ass werewolf he's been more or less hanging out with for the last couple of years, who has, on more than one occasion, threatened him with grievous bodily harm and even death, has been turned into something that fits in the palm of his hand. Without witnesses, of course, so Stiles can't even confirm for sure that he hasn't just lost his damned mind, or the witch hadn't decided the gift she was going to give him was that of extremely vivid hallucinations.

"Derek, if that thing really is you, give me a sign."

Stiles waits. Actually holds his breath. And then the hedgehog, after a moment of being perfectly still and silent, huffs and rolls its eyes. 

"Holy shit, it is you," Stiles says, burying his face into Derek's jeans again. They smell like the woods, like Derek himself, and wow, when did he start noticing how Derek smells? It's not like he's got the werewolf sense of smell going for him. "This is what that damned witch was talking about, wasn't it? About your animal form? You're a, what, were-hedgehog now?" He pulls out his phone and checks the app on the top row of his home screen. "Nope. Not even close to the full moon. So you're just... a regular hedgehog?"

The hedgehog doesn't say anything – _because it's a fucking hedgehog, right_ – and Stiles sighs and sits up. "Well, if magic made you this way, maybe magic can fix you. I don't have a damned clue what I'm doing, as that witch was so good to point out, but we've got Deaton." Stiles stands and makes to pick the hedgehog up like it's a stuffed animal, hand over its back, but it instantly curls up tight, before he can so much as touch it. "Shit, right, sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't think about – and now I'm apologizing to a hedgehog, great, this is now my life." He forces himself to take a deep breath, then crouches back down, looks at the balled up animal directly. "Okay. So. We're gonna go to Deaton, get his ass out of bed, and have him fix you. Because unless you feel like being stuck like this, that's really the only idea I have. But, you know, because you're a fucking tiny hedgehog and all, that means I've gotta carry you. This place is condemned, dude. You'll go through a crack in the stairs or floor before we even get to the front door. Come on. What do you say? You can trust me, I promise." He holds his hand open, palm up on the mattress, and waits.

There's another long moment of no response, and then the hedgehog slowly uncurls, and even more slowly makes its way over to Stiles's hand. It sniffs his fingers a couple of times, then steps very gingerly onto Stiles's open palm. Yeah, okay, he's having a hard time making his brain accept it, but this isn't just an ordinary hedgehog. If it was, there's no way it would have followed his suggestions like that, like it understood what he was saying. So. 

This is Derek.

The thought makes Stiles want to burst out in hysterical laughter, but he's afraid that if he starts, not only will he startle the hell out of the hedgehog, but he might not be able to stop.

"Yeah, okay, see, this isn't so bad," Stiles murmurs to the thing in his hand as he very carefully lifts it – him – up and tries to figure out how to carry him. After a minute, he spies a shoebox tucked into the corner. "Okay, that's perfect," he says, mostly to himself. He removes the brand-new running shoes from the box – they haven't even been laced up yet, so at least he's pretty sure the box isn't smelly – and tries to set the hedgehog in there as gently as possible, because he really doesn't relish Derek taking out his irritation on him once he's back to normal, should Stiles jostle him or anything else. 

"There, that's much easier, isn't – _ow_!" Stiles withdraws his hand and glares into the box, only to see the hedgehog glaring back at him. "Seriously, dude? You're biting me? Look, okay, I understand that you might, for _some_ odd reason, be a little irritated about the whole being turned into a hedgehog thing. But I'm fucking trying to get it fixed, okay? So right now, that means getting in this box so I can carry you to Deaton's. Afterwards, you can rip the damn thing to shreds or run it over with your car or whatever you want. For now, it's your fucking hedgehog taxi. I swear, twenty minutes from now, we'll be at the clinic, and hopefully you'll never have to see the inside of a shoebox again, okay? Okay." Derek makes a clicking noise at him, but Stiles just rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, your displeasure is noted. Now get in there. We're wasting time."

There's a moment where Stiles isn't sure if he should buckle the box in somehow, once he climbs into the Jeep, or if he should put it on the floorboard, and he's really kind of regretting that he drives a damned manual at the moment, because it means he needs both hands totally free. He gets them there by wedging the box between the seat and his backpack on the floor, and has to hope that Derek in this state doesn't get either carsick or thrown all the hell over inside that box, by the time they get to the vet's. Stiles had tried to call Scott and got no answer, had thought about trying Lydia or Peter and decided against both for different reasons, and finally just called Deaton's cell phone, leaving a voicemail saying he was on his way to the clinic and needed immediate help. It's a relief to find Deaton standing there at the back door when Stiles pulls up because, honestly, he hadn't really been sure Deaton would take him seriously.

"Oh thank God, seriously, I have no idea what I would have done if you hadn't – " Stiles begins, practically jogging to the door with the box tucked firmly under his arm. He hears a hiss from inside the cardboard box and slows down, reminding himself that being jostled is a lot worse, when you're that small in comparison to the thing that's bouncing around. 

"You called for a legitimate pet-related emergency?" Deaton interrupts him, looking somewhat amused. "I wasn't even aware you had a pet," he said, eyeing the box. He looks up at Stiles. "The animal _is_ alive, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's alive!" Stiles says, feeling suddenly defensive. Yeah, he's barely eighteen now, and maybe no one really expects him to keep something alive and safe, but Jesus, he's not _that_ bad.

"Well, let me see it," Deaton says, and Stiles is too busy being offended to explain what's actually going on before Deaton lifts the lid and peers inside. "Stiles?" he asks, his voice curious. "How did you acquire your pet? Hedgehogs are illegal to own as pets in the state of California. Your father can't have – "

"It's not my illegal pet!" Stiles practically shouts, before realizing it's late, they're just hanging out in the doorway to the veterinary clinic after hours, and he hasn't actually told Deaton what the hell has been going on for the last couple of hours. "It's not my pet," he hisses, fighting the urge to snatch the box back. "It's Derek."

Deaton just gives him that look, the one that virtually never goes past mild curiosity and slight amusement and into actual surprise or shock. "Care to elaborate?"

"The hedgehog. It's Derek Hale. We were out, trying to just _talk_ to this witch who's been sort of camping on the Hale property for a few days, and I don't know, she said some things, sang a little, and like five minutes after I get Derek back to his place, poof, he's a fucking hedgehog. Can't talk, but he understands English and everything, as far as I can tell. Seriously, he even rolled his eyes at me."

"And expressed his irritation, it looks like," Deaton says, nodding at the small bite mark on Stiles's hand.

"Yeah, turns out he wasn't a big fan of the being-shoved-in-a-box idea," Stiles snorts. "Okay. So. I got him here. Now I need you to fix him."

Deaton chuckles softly. "I gathered as much. Come on in. I'll take a look at him, see what I can figure out." He's headed into the clinic, shaking his head, as Stiles follows along behind, biting down on the instinct to tell Deaton not to manhandle the hedgehog too much. It's not like the man's a professional, licensed vet or anything. Still, it nags at him a little, and he rushes behind, eager to get to the examination room and get his (and Derek's) life back to what passes for normal these days – or at least, doesn't involve one of them being stuck as a creature they haven't been since birth.


	3. Chapter 3

"What do you mean, he's fine?" Stiles asks, his jaw clenching. "He's a hedgehog. He's not fine."

"He's _perfectly_ fine. Perfectly healthy for a hedgehog," Deaton says, eyebrows raised. 

"Yeah, well, the problem is sort of that he _is_ a hedgehog," Stiles finds himself saying. And his teachers think _he_ has trouble listening.

"You don't say," Deaton says, and Stiles wants to punch the quiet sarcasm out of him, only he sort of needs him to un-hedgehog Derek first, and he probably can't do that if he's lying on the floor, bleeding. "Look. There's good news and bad news," he says matter-of-factly as they both watch the hedgehog walk along the stainless steel table. Stiles wonders what Derek's thinking, and can only assume he's wandering around up there because he's bored. Or maybe that's hedgehog pacing. Or maybe it just feels weird to be in that body, and he's trying to work it out.

"Give it to us straight," Stiles sighs, and the hedgehog stops toddling along and looks up at them expectantly.

Great, now Stiles knows what an expectant hedgehog looks like.

"The good news is that he's healthy, in great shape. No mites, no illness, not even dry skin. He's not overweight, his body temperature is good, everything checks out."

"Yeah, he's the poster-pet for domesticated hedgehogs everywhere. We'll get him on the campaign to legalize them as pets in California another time. Now what's the bad news?"

"I can't reverse whatever the spell was," Deaton says with a shrug. 

"You're fucking joking." On the exam table, there's a series of agitated clicks and hisses. Stiles doesn't even need to look down to tell that this is pissed-off hedgehog behavior, the equivalent of _what the fuck are you talking about?_ , probably. 

"Unfortunately, I'm not. It's a very tight spell. If the witch you encountered was using song to weave her magic, it's unlikely I'd be able to undo what's been done without talking to her directly. It's just not the sort of thing I'm completely knowledgeable in. Understanding basic theory is one thing, but that doesn't let me unravel that kind of magic. But there is more good news."

"And that is?" Stiles asks through gritted teeth. Derek's still letting out little squeaks, and Stiles starts to put out his hand to pet him, get him to calm down, but then remembers what those little teeth felt like in the fleshy web between his thumb and index finger, and decides against it.

"I don't think it's meant to be permanent. I think it's her version of a joke, or something like it. It should go away on its own."

"How long?"

Deaton shrugs. "Couldn't say. Could be tonight. Could be tomorrow, or next week, or a month, or a year, or even the natural lifespan of a hedgehog. Or it could be that she's cast the spell so that it will only reverse itself if certain conditions are met."

"Like that she's safely out of the area, like she told us she would be, if we left her alone?"

"Perhaps," Deaton says, sounding way too agreeable. "For now, I'd say you're both sort of stuck in this situation. I could keep Derek here at the clinic, keep an eye on him, make sure he's safe and healthy, if you'd like. Hedgehogs do well on certain brands of cat food, and can even use a litter box, and I have spare cages around here where he'll be comfortable."

"Yeah, no, I don't think so," Stiles says firmly, because he and Derek might not be best friends or anything, but they've been through a lot of shit together. Stiles cannot, in good conscience, just drop him off here and bail and hope for the best. He's pretty sure Derek would not be thrilled to be stuck in the dark clinic overnight, and have to deal with the random noises from the dogs and cats that are here for boarding, let alone whatever it's like in here during normal business hours. "No locking him up here. I'll take him home." There's a startled noise from the table that matches Deaton's raised eyebrows. "Seriously. I'll take him back to my place. I can keep him with me for the weekend without anyone noticing, and if this isn't done by tomorrow night, we'll figure out the next step. I'm not leaving him here, not if he's healthy. Not an option."

Deaton doesn't say anything for a moment, and even the hedgehog is silent and still again. "Well, if you insist, I can give you some basic supplies for now. A cage, bedding, litter, toys, food, some basic care information, that sort of thing."

"Yeah, fine," Stiles says, nodding stiffly. He's going to be sneaking an illegal animal – an animal that is sometimes a totally _different_ , much more dangerous animal, when he's not human – into the sheriff's house. "Let's get to it, then. My dad will be home in an hour, and I'd really rather not walk through the door smuggling exotic pet contraband in front of him."

"Very well."

Stiles sits carefully on the edge of the exam table, glancing down at the hedgehog – Derek – and sighing. He looks distressed. "Yeah, I'm sorry this wasn't the quick fix I figured it would be. And I know you'd probably be anywhere than my place while we get this worked out, but I can't just leave you here, and I sure as hell can't let you wander around your place, or worse, outside. At least at my house, you'll have food and all that, and no predator that would consider you a snack." 

The hedgehog is giving him a look that reminds Stiles of about a dozen different adorably anthropomorphic Disney characters and, hesitantly, Stiles holds out his hand for him to climb onto. The hedgehog's hesitation is much shorter this time, and Stiles is careful when he moves his hand over onto his lap and lets the hedgehog crawl onto the thigh of his jeans. He holds his hand over the hedgehog's back, and after an initial moment where it curls up a little, it relaxes and sits there, sniffing at Stiles's knee. Cautiously, Stiles pets the quills on the hedgehog's back. They're prickly, but not painful. "You know, that actually feels kind of cool," he murmurs, running his hand lightly along the animal's back. He's never actually handled a hedgehog before, probably because you don't generally find them as pets in California. "Does it bother you?" There's a snuffling noise, but no teeth get sunk into Stiles's hand and the hedgehog doesn't curl up into a tight little ball again, so he takes that to mean Derek will at least put up with it, on a trial basis.

"Please don't kill me for this later, okay?" Stiles sighs, his hand still petting Derek. "Hedgehogs are apparently pretty cool. Who knew?" He's silent for a little while, still musing over the way this feels, the quills on the palm of his hand. He's about to reassure Derek again that they'll get this fixed but, before he can, Deaton walks in, a large plastic-bottomed wire cage filled with supplies in his arms. Stiles takes that as his cue to shut up before he regrets promising something he can't deliver.

"Well, hey, there's one thing to be said for all of this," Stiles says, getting everything into the Jeep a few minutes later. The hedgehog is in a tiny little pet carrying case, now strapped in safely to the seat. "At least you don't have to ride around in a shoebox anymore."

There's a quiet squeaking huffing noise from the carrier, and Stiles wonders if that's what it sounds like when hedgehogs are indignant about something. Oddly enough, it almost sounds like a laugh, if hedgehogs laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

In the end, despite the fact that he's tried really hard to basically set up a veritable hedgehog paradise within the cage Deaton's loaned him, Stiles feels really guilty just sticking Derek in there.

Derek doesn't exactly look all that thrilled with his accommodations, either.

"Don't give me that look," Stiles says, sighing. Derek is currently sitting on Stiles's desk, which had Stiles worried at first, wondering if Derek might just walk or fall right off the edge, until he realized Derek's still got enough brain power to think and communicate, and isn't just a hedgehog who might not realize the relative height of the drop and the concept of the surface just ending all of a sudden. He'd made Derek nod (and gotten an irritated huff along with it) in acknowledgement that he wouldn't just wander off while Stiles had his back turned. After some general wandering around, sniffing at things and spending extra time exploring the computer, Derek had settled down and just watched Stiles work.

"I know, it's a cage," he says, running a hand through his hair. "But it's got the litter box, and I swear to God, I will never tell anyone you had to use a litter box, if you don't maim me for petting you earlier. It's got food dishes, and water, and bedding, and a little hollow half-log thing for you to hide in, because that's apparently something hedgehogs do, and a plastic wheel, because that's also apparently something hedgehogs like, and seriously, it's like the Hilton of hedgehog habitats."

The hedgehog does not look convinced. Stiles can't really blame him.

"I don't want to put you in there," Stiles says a couple of hours later. He's at his computer, trying out his google-fu at figuring out what the hell this spell is, and how it might be fixed, no matter what Deaton said. The hedgehog is resting to the left of the keyboard, apparently chilling after dinner. After some quick googling, Stiles had snagged some fruit and a leftover plain baked chicken breast from the fridge and brought them up for a late night snack after his dad had gone to bed. His dad's Stiles-enforced diet has yielded surprising benefits tonight. He'd eaten most of the chicken himself but pulled off a piece for Derek, who had given him a surprisingly dirty look when presented with the cat food as a culinary option. Chicken, apparently, is an acceptable offering, as is the red grape.

"I just feel really bad about caging you," he continues, opening yet another link in a new tab. "I mean, I probably wouldn't want to be in there, in your situation. But I can't have you just wandering around during the night, or on the floor. Because, I mean, let's face it, I'm kind of a klutz, and yeah, I'm usually not in the position of being able to actually inflict harm on you, with the whole werewolf strength and healing powers and all, but I'd probably die of guilt if I just ran over you with the computer chair because I'd forgotten you were on the floor. And I can't have my dad just walk on in to see you hanging out in the middle of the floor without having to make up some excuse about watching a friend's pet, which is an animal that's banned in this state. An exotic pet probably won't get him ejected from office, but I've sort of been responsible for that once already, and I really don't want to test my luck on that." He pauses. "Huh. You can't tell me to shut up, this way. I didn't realize how used to that I was. I can talk and talk, and you basically just have to take it."

Stiles looks down at the hedgehog, who is looking back at him. "I mean, I guess you could bite me again if you want me to shut up, but otherwise, you're kind of stuck with it. You're kind of stuck with a lot, aren't you? I mean, with the current situation. We are not even going into all the other shitty things you've been stuck with in your life. I'd probably lose my voice before I got finished listing them all." He shakes his head, yawns, and turns back to the screen. "No shit, dude. If we ever meet the person responsible for doling out the events in our lives, I have a few words for him, but I'll let you go ahead and work him over real good first. Fate's kinda got this thing for kicking you in the balls, seems like. You should be able to reciprocate."

There's something against the edge of Stiles's left hand, and he jumps just slightly. He glances down, and Derek's right up next to him, looking up at him with some sort of expression Stiles can't read, or can't translate from hedgehog to human. "What? Is this your non-bitey way of asking me to shut up?"

Instead of nodding (which is still weird), or biting Stiles after all, the hedgehog just very carefully moves its head and very slowly touches his nose to the outside of Stiles's left hand, just above his wrist. And then he rubs his snout against the spot.

Stiles blinks.

The hedgehog nuzzles him again. It's definitely a nuzzle. 

Stiles absolutely does not feel a warm fuzzy little feeling in his chest. "Yeah, fine," he says quietly, his voice a little thick, which is _stupid_. "You're using your new-found adorability to manipulate me, don't think I don't realize that." Still, it doesn't stop him from slowly moving his hand and petting the hedgehog, who takes it well. "Oh, fine, come here," he says. "You can hang out with me a little longer, but we're moving this research away from the desk. You can hang out on my bed while I work, okay? And then it's cage time. We'll have to keep it under my bed, sorry about that."

He gets the laptop set up at the head of the bed, shucks out of his jeans and shirts and all, and gently carries Derek and sets him down next to the pillow. With a bit of debate, Stiles takes off his shirt like he usually does, clad in just his underwear for sleep. "Now stay where I can keep track of you," he warns, settling in for more research. "I don't want to roll over and suffocate you or anything."

The hedgehog gives him a look, but takes a place next to the computer again while Stiles props himself up on his stomach and the pillow and starts reading a page he hopes is worth putting up with the annoying font and color scheme. After a while and a little bit of exploring the head of Stiles's bed, Derek comes back and settles near Stiles's left forearm, nosing at the bare skin.

"You know, you're surprisingly friendly, as a hedgehog. I mean, aside from the biting thing, earlier. But I understand the biting thing. You were pissed off. You kind of had a right to be." Stiles yawns again. It's after four in the morning, and it's been a long damned night. "I just... I don't know. I didn't expect you to be okay with the touching. Or being petted. Not that I expected you to, you know, ever be a hedgehog, either." He yawns again and shakes his head. "Okay. Two more tabs, and then it's to your habitat you go. It's late, and I need sleep. You probably do, too."

It's actually seven tabs and forty-five minutes later when Stiles drifts off to sleep, his computer finally dimming before going dark and clicking off, over a dozen tabs still open in the browser.

Next to the arm Stiles has shoved under the pillow, the hedgehog lays his snout against the loosely-curled hand that sticks out from under the material and closes his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

"Seriously, son, are you ever planning on getting out of bed?"

Stiles groans and buries his face into the pillow, avoiding both the bright sunlight and his dad's exasperated voice from the open doorway. One hand hits the laptop at the head of the bed, and last night comes back to him. Research. Witch. 

Hedgehog.

Shit. Where's Derek?

"Well, are you? It's almost eleven. I'm headed in to work. And you promised to weed the garden this weekend. It's supposed to rain tomorrow, so today's the day. You're not getting out of it by claiming weather interference tomorrow."

"Yeah, no, I'll do it today," Stiles says, mind racing. He hadn't actually put Derek in his cage last night, had he? Which means he could be anywhere. He could be crushed between the headboard and mattress. He could be trapped behind something, or stuck in the heating vent, or running out the door, basically beneath his dad's feet right now. He jerks a little at the thought of Derek just running away and disappearing forever and something happening to him, and something kind of sharp pokes him in the shoulder, just underneath the covers, and he yelps and flails a little more. Thankfully, his yelp covers the tiniest of squeaks from that same spot. 

Okay. There's Derek.

"Son? You okay over there?" his dad asks hesitantly.

"Yeah, sorry, just, uh, forgot I strained a muscle while fucking around with Scott yesterday and stretched it too far."

Stiles can practically _hear_ his dad rolling his eyes. "All right. Well, if you're not too injured, get on those weeds. I want the garden taken care of before I get home. If it's not, I will get back in that car and go order myself the biggest bacon cheeseburger and double order of curly fries that money can buy in this town."

"You're threatening me with you breaking your diet?" Stiles asks, still aware that Derek's at his shoulder, which means he can't just sit up or throw the blankets off. "That's low, Dad."

"But effective," the sheriff says, shrugging. "Have a good day, Stiles. I'll see you tonight." He closes the door behind him, and Stiles waits until he can hear the front door open and close before he shoves the covers back, exposing the balled-up hedgehog.

"Dude. Seriously. You scared the shit out of me. I woke up and realized I had no idea where you were. I was – " He stops, blows a breath out through pursed lips. "I was worried something could have happened to you." Derek's still curled up tightly, and Stiles scoops him up and sets him on top of the blankets on his lap. "Seriously, this is my life. I'm worried about you, worried about your safety, and then I feel your prickly self against my arm and realize you're there, and I'm relieved you're okay, you're still here." He pokes Derek very gently, just a nudge, really, and Derek slowly uncurls. "There we go. That's better." He looks down at the animal in his lap and grins. "Huh. You're kind of cute, you know. Tiny little feet and all." There's a little huff, and Stiles chuckles. "I mean, who are we kidding, you're hot and all as a human, but as a hedgehog, you're kind of adorable." He shakes his head. "Okay. I'm going to get dressed and get on those weeds before I spend some more time researching today. You gonna be okay in here? I mean, Deaton said hedgehogs are nocturnal and all, and I don't know, even if _you're_ not, I really don't want to tempt fate any more. Like, have you outside with me, and have some neighborhood dog or some giant bird just come out of nowhere and run off with you, determined to eat you. Because, let's face it, that's the kind of luck we've got going on here." 

The hedgehog gives him a look that Stiles might describe as "baleful," if it were coming from virtually any other creature than a hedgehog. And then it yawns, and Stiles tries not to flail or coo or something, because that shit is adorable, there is no other word for it.

"Okay, maybe you are nocturnal, or at least not opposed to daytime naps," he says, fighting a giant grin as he gets up and grabs clothes from his dresser. He almost shucks completely down, then realizes the hedgehog is still _Derek_ , and they've both seen each other in fairly limited clothing before, but that's always been a direct result of having to lose an article of clothing to have injuries inspected and/or treated. He's not sure he can stand nude in front of Derek and not want to die of embarrassment, even in this form. Because, technically, Derek's not wearing clothes, but he's also a _hedgehog_ , and it's not like they wear pants out in the wild, and – 

Okay, maybe he should take his morning Adderall, while he's at this whole getting-dressed-and-ready thing.

"Be right back," he calls to where the hedgehog is curled up in Stiles's comforter. He grabs his clothes and heads for the door. "Just... stay there and... yeah. I'll be back in a minute."

It doesn't take long to get changed and brush his teeth and all, and when he gets back to his room only a few minutes later, the hedgehog is, well, he's snoring. It's a tiny little sound, but probably could not be cuter if Derek tried. "Okay, that decides it," Stiles says to himself, after a minute of staring down at the animal. "You're staying here." He gets something from the bathroom, then gently scoops Derek up and lies on the floor next to his bed. The cage is just under his bed, and Stiles thinks for a second before deciding to do this the most humane way he can think of. "Okay, sleepyhead," he says, when the hedgehog wakes and cracks an eye at him. "You nap if you want. I'm going to leave this towel here for you to burrow in. I'm also leaving the door to your cage open, so you can climb into your habitat if you need anything in there. I'll get you something else to snack on, in case you wake up. If you decide, because you're stubborn as hell, to go exploring, please just stay away from the door or anywhere else I might run you over when I come back in. I won't be long."

Stiles leaves Derek curled up in the middle of the towel-nest, shaking his head as he slips on his old tennis shoes, and sets about digging around in the garage until he finds the gardening gloves and assorted tools his dad stores in here. It's warm out, even though it's partly cloudy, and ten minutes in, Stiles is sweating. There are a lot more weeds out here than he'd noticed before, and some of them are _really_ tough to pull out. 

"Aw, so domestic, aren't we?"

Stiles jumps about a foot in the air and swears, glaring at Erica as she stands there and laughs. "What the hell?" he asks, trying to get his heart rate under control. Sometimes, he thinks Erica likes to startle him just because she _can_ hear his heart rate speed up when she does that. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Derek," she says, like Stiles is stupid. 

"What do you need him for?" Stiles asks, trying to keep his voice even. Erica's still standing over him, dressed in tiny denim shorts, sandals with high heels, and a red and black top that isn't subtle about displaying her assets. So, Stiles supposes that whatever it is that has her looking for her alpha isn't a matter of life or death. She looks a little too put-together for that.

"He seemed a little off when we all left last night," she says, examining the fingernails of one hand. "Isaac's been worried, mostly because we can't reach him. We've all checked out the usual places he could be."

"But it's not like he hasn't just run off to be on his own for a few days before," Stiles says, turning his back to her and trying to focus on the garden again, so she can't see his face.

"True," she allows. "But I could smell you at the old house in the woods this morning. And you smell like him now."

"I haven't showered since yesterday," he retorts. "I didn't see the point until after I'd completed my assigned manual labor." He gestures to the patch of earth in front of him with the trowel. "I probably just smell like him since I gave him a ride home last night." 

Shit.

"You gave him a ride home?" she asks, like this isn't actually a surprise. Then again, if the Hale house smelled like him, she'd probably already figured that out. She sinks to her knees in a way that's way too graceful. "So you're the last one to see him."

"Uh, yeah, I guess I probably am."

"Where was he the last time you saw him?"

"Last time I saw his scruffy face was in his room in the old house," Stiles says, straight-faced, hoping his heartbeat doesn't give him away. It's not a lie. 

Erica leans towards him in a way that makes Stiles think of small prey being sized up before a meal. He doesn't flinch, but it takes some effort. Of all Derek's betas, Erica's still the scariest. By far. "You smell an awful lot like him for someone who hasn't seen him since last night," she murmurs, then breathes in deeply. 

Stiles tries not to panic. He's pretty fucking sure Derek wouldn't want everyone to know what's happened to him, at least not when they've got a chance at him being fine by the time that witch leaves town tonight.

"You smell like him, and like something else," she says after a moment, her nose wrinkling. "I don't know what it is, but it's an animal of some sort."

"What, you think I'm cheating on all you wolves with some other supernatural creature?" Stiles tries out a laugh. It sounds natural enough.

Erica chuckles. "On all of us? No. And cheating on Derek? Definitely not. We'd all know."

"What the hell does that mean?" Stiles asks, as she stands up and pulls her phone out of her pocket, tapping something on it before putting it back.

"Oh Stiles, you're smarter than that," she says, shaking her head. "I know boys are dumb and oblivious, but come on." She saunters away, but turns back when she hits the sidewalk. "If you see him, let him know we were looking for him, won't you? Isaac's a worrier, but we'll all be more than a little concerned if he doesn't pop up within a couple of days."

"Yeah, can do," he says weakly as she walks down the street.

What _are_ they going to do, the whole pack, if Derek isn't fixed soon?


	6. Chapter 6

When Stiles finally drags himself back inside, it's straight to the shower. He's exhausted and sore and he's pretty sure the back of his neck is a little burned, despite the cloud cover. He's spent the last couple of hours wondering what a pack does when its alpha isn't dead, but just stuck in the body of another creature, or if Derek will shift in some way when the next full moon rolls around, or how long he can keep this whole situation a secret. He's just going to hope really, really hard that this goes away when the witch leaves town as promised, because he's having a really difficult time envisioning what the fuck they'll all do, otherwise

Stiles would like to tell himself that he absolutely does not worry when he cannot find Derek within thirty seconds of reentering his bedroom that afternoon. He would like to say that, ten minutes later, he is not on the verge of an actual panic attack when he still can't locate the hedgehog. 

Those would be lies.

He does eventually find Derek, nearly twenty minutes after walking in, post-shower. He's not in the towel, or in the cage, or anywhere under the bed, and he's not along the sideboards at all, or in Stiles's closet. He's curled up underneath the T-shirt Stiles had been wearing last night while they were out running around after the witch, and he's sleeping. Sleeping so soundly, in fact, that he doesn't even flinch when Stiles pokes him a little, and Stiles has another close brush with an all-out panic attack when he thinks that Derek has somehow died while Stiles has been outside.

"Dude. You keep scaring the hell out of me, you know that?" Stiles says weakly, as the hedgehog opens his eyes and yawns at Stiles. "Come on. If you're going to sleep during the day, at least do it where I can find you. Or up on my desk with me right now, while I see if I don't have any miraculous research breakthroughs." He carries Derek across the room and sets him in the spot he'd occupied last night before flopping into his computer chair. Hot shower or no, he's still sore from the gardening. He's not used to being hunched over like that for so long. "Please don't make me have to tell Erica and the others that I've lost their alpha. I don't know what werewolf protocol is for that, but I have the feeling it's bloody and painful and involves a lot of claws and teeth. And a lot worse, if Peter's a part of it."

Two hours later, Stiles has gathered it's wakeup time for hedgehogs, since Derek's wandering around the desk in a way that's frankly distracting, barely even deterred by the snack Stiles has left for him. He gives up trying to stop Derek trying to get into shit and sets him down on the carpet, then takes his laptop with him and sprawls on the floor to do his work down there. It's dark a lot earlier than Stiles expected, and it's not until he hears the rumble of distant thunder that he consciously realizes why. That'd be the rain his dad had been talking about, a little earlier than expected. No big deal. Stiles has always generally liked the rain, likes the smell of things during and after, though there had been that big storm a little over a year ago, and Stiles's associations with that are a little less than pleasant. But still, the rain can be kind of nice.

Stiles is so tuned into the research he's doing that he barely notices something climbing along his back until it's halfway to his shoulder. "Dude, what are you doing?" he mutters, opening a well-hidden PDF that talks about how different frequencies of voice can effect spell-casting. "That kinda tickles, all right?" He ignores it, thinking it's probably just Derek working out some stuck-as-a-hedgehog-related boredom or frustration, until there's a small weight at the crest of his shoulder. He looks back at the hedgehog, only to basically get a snout to the cheek. "Ugh, dude, what are you doing, seriously?"

There's a soft snuffling noise in his ear, and Stiles sighs. "Dude. Derek. I don't even know what to do here. I have no mental script for how to treat you when you're basically a household pet. I'm really just trying to keep you alive until this wears off, and hoping you don't torture me for the rest of my life – or decide to end it early – because of anything I say or do when you're oddly small and cute and vulnerable. Like, seriously, you as a hedgehog is kind of the opposite of how you are as a werewolf. Except for the eye-rolling. Which, for the record, is _weird_ , coming from a hedgehog, and not nearly as effective as it usually is."

The hedgehog snuffles at him some more, then – and Stiles will probably never entirely believe his own perception of this – licks his cheek and moves closer.

"You know," Stiles says, sighing, as he very carefully picks Derek up and rolls over onto his back so he can set Derek on his chest and look at him directly, "I've already decided to keep you safe. You don't have to be cute so that I don't change my mind. I've kept your ass from drowning in a pool, you've put yourself between me and a murderous lizard. I've staked a vampire for you, you've taken a taser for me. I've run over a Siren for you, you've shoved me out of the way of a poisoned arrow. We've sort of got this life-and-death give-and-take thing worked out, in a non-explicit way. I don't know if that makes us actual friends or whatever, but it makes us close in some way, right? You can trust me, I swear. I haven't even told your betas what's happened to you."

Derek cocks his head, and Stiles mulls that one over for a second. There's probably something to be said for the fact that he didn't immediately go to the other wolves for help. Maybe he's a little _too_ used to keeping secrets. His dad does know of the existence of werewolves now and all, so he'd probably accept a casual "hey, Dad, so I know hedgehogs are illegal pets here and all, but this one's Derek, and he should be back to normal soon, but I'm just kind of keeping him here until he's all normal again" over dinner.

Well, maybe not over dinner.

"Actually, maybe I should tell the others what's up with – " He doesn't even finish the sentence when the hedgehog gives a very clear, displeased hiss and bares his tiny teeth. "Okay, that's a no, for whatever reason," Stiles says, raising his eyebrows. "Although if this doesn't – "

The rest of his sentence is cut off by thunder booming so loudly that Stiles can feel the reverberations in his chest. The lights flicker and go out, which wouldn't be that much of a problem, except that it also knocks out the internet. Derek squeaks and balls up and Stiles sighs and pets him as a reflex. "That's gotta be a lot louder for you, huh?" Stiles murmurs. Derek doesn't uncurl from his spot on Stiles's chest, and Stiles just lies there and continues to pet him. God, Derek is so going to rip his throat out when he's back to normal, Stiles is sure of it.

"Okay," Stiles says into the dark a couple of minutes later. "Still no power, which means no more internet research. What do you say I pop a movie into the computer and we wait this out under the covers until either the power comes back on or the battery dies? Because I'm not gonna lie, dude, my body is protesting this whole weeding thing on top of running around after a witch in the middle of the night. I've been less sore after lacrosse games – and yes, I mean the ones where I did more than warm the bench, thanks." He gets them all settled, tosses a DVD into the drive, and yawns as Derek wiggles his way up to Stiles's shoulder, still mostly underneath the blankets. "Can hedgehogs even see things on computer screens?" Stiles asks as the opening credits to _The Avengers_ play. "Oh well. Still a good movie, even if you only listen. Who doesn't like the Avengers, I mean, seriously?" A small nose nudges his shoulder, and Stiles grins into his pillow. "Yeah, exactly. No one, that's who."

Despite his valiant efforts, Stiles is asleep long before the Chitauri hit New York, a small, prickly warmth nestled into the curve of his neck and shoulder. 

It's surprisingly comfortable.


	7. Chapter 7

This time when Stiles wakes, it's to the sound of a small, wheezing snore in his right ear that he identifies as a sleeping hedgehog. He's still in the T-shirt and shorts he'd put on after his shower last night, and the clock that sits across the room as an emergency backup alarm is flashing 12:00 in red letters. He fumbles for his phone and eventually lands his hand upon it. It's only nine in the morning. There's a text from his dad last night saying not to wait up for him for dinner, since he was working late due to the power outage, but that he'd be back before midnight and expected to see him for breakfast at the usual time. At least he's covered there.

"All right, dude. I'm putting you back under the bed while I go down and do this breakfast thing with my dad before he heads over to Deputy Gonzales' place to watch the game and do whatever other manly, guy-bonding things they've got planned." He huffs a small laugh as he carefully places a mostly-sleeping Derek back in the towel nest under the bed. It says a hell of a lot about his life that he actually doesn't know what sort of male bonding activities are normal amongst populations that don't play video games, participate in lacrosse and cross-country, and run around the woods at night, trying to rid their town of evil supernatural creatures. "I'll be back in a little while." As an afterthought, he puts that T-shirt he'd found Derek curled up in under the bed along with the towel. It's one of Stiles's most comfortable shirts, so he really can't blame Derek for choosing that to sleep in. "There. Stay safe, dude. No more giving me heart attacks today by hiding."

He tries not to think about the fact that the witch should be long gone by now, and Derek is still a hedgehog.

Stiles waves goodbye to his dad a little over two hours later, promising to do the grocery run sometime before dinner tonight, then heads back up to his room. Derek is still under the bed, curled up in Stiles's shirt again, and Stiles leaves him be. He's basically at a dead-end as far as any useful magical research goes, and his part-time summer job at the station, (helping to tighten the filing system) doesn't require him to be anywhere until tomorrow afternoon, so he's really sort of on his own. He stares at his phone for a while, then texts Scott. Nothing revealing. Just a simple _Hey, what are you doing?"_

He doesn't get a response for almost twenty minutes, and then it's just _Nothing. At the mall with Isaac and Allison. Why, what's up?_

At the mall with one of the betas and the girl Stiles is suspicious they might be sharing, not that he wants to ask those details. For a while there had been Allison and Scott. And then Allison and Isaac, and a less-than-thrilled Scott. And now it's sort of like they've got some triad thing that Stiles probably doesn't want to know about. Whatever. Stiles doesn't know if that's some werewolf thing, or some Allison-is-awesome-in-a-way-Stiles-can't-appreciate thing, or if he's just misreading the situation entirely. Either way, two of the werewolves he knows, including Derek's first beta, are out shopping and not in some sort of panic over where the alpha is. So that's sort of a relief.

_Nothing, no worries_ , Stiles ends up texting back. _Just thinking of rocking some xbox, since the weather's shitty._ He and Scott haven't done that in a few weeks, so it's not like mentioning it like a potential invite would seem out of the ordinary. When Scott replies half an hour later with an apology and offer for maybe next weekend, or after work some day this week, Stiles figures that's enough in the department of making everything appear normal and tosses his phone onto the bed while he does, in fact, power up the Xbox. 

He plays for a couple of hours, makes himself a sandwich and breaks into the potato chips his dad thinks he's hidden from Stiles, and plays for a while more. He's got a couple of months of this existence left, of hanging around and being half-way worthless, only really bothering with his part-time job for some spending money and increasing his savings account, before he has to leave for college in the southern part of the state. Part of him worries that things will go to hell in Beacon Hills, but none of the betas are going far, Scott's going to veterinary school only an hour away, and things haven't been quite as bad the last six months as they were during his sophomore and junior years of high school. Still, Stiles is going to soak up time with his dad, with the other werewolves, with Lydia and Allison and Danny and the twins, who occasionally hang out with the group, and even with Derek.

Peter can keep the hell to himself, as far as Stiles is concerned. He's always starting shit, riling things up, and then disappearing to leave them to handle the mess. Sort of like now.

Stiles pauses his game and thinks about that for a second. It had been Peter's idea to confront the witch, but he'd been AWOL when they were all running around the woods. Stiles sits and mulls that over. In the past, his Peter-is-up-to-shit-and-can't-be-trusted radar has been incredibly reliable, but it's not pinging now any more than it ever does at baseline. If he's honest with himself, he thinks it's unlikely Peter is behind this whole situation Derek's in, at least, directly. He and Derek had come to some sort of agreement about whatever fucked-up family and pack issues they had about a year ago, and even Stiles has noticed that Peter may go worryingly weird and creepy sometimes, but it doesn't have that same I-might-lose-it-and-kill-my-family-members-again feeling it used to. So there's that.

He's about to resume playing when there's a series of squeaks from behind him on the floor, and Stiles swivels around to see Derek looking at him from a safe distance away. Huh. So he did listen about not being run over. That's kind of nice.

"Hey there, little buddy," Stiles says, raising his eyebrows. "Decide not to be fully nocturnal, did we?" Another squeak. "What, you want to come hang out while I kill the shit out of the evil undead hordes? Come on then."

To Stiles's mild surprise, the hedgehog does come over, stopping at Stiles's feet and looking up at him expectantly. Stiles shrugs, picks Derek up and, after a moment of debate over where to actually put him, sticks Derek up on his shoulder. "Let me know if that's not gonna work for you," he tells the animal as he sits back in the chair so it's not in danger of falling backwards. "Preferably without biting, 'kay?" The hedgehog wiggles around a little, but seems to settle into place without much trouble. "I guess that's satisfactory, then," Stiles muses. "Probably nice to see things from human-level again, and not be stuck on the floor, huh?" He's sure he'd get sick of the view from two inches off the carpet, too.

Stiles ends up playing until his eyes get tired. As he's saving his game, there's a nose poked into his neck, which he ignores. But then he's nudged again, and he turns his head and looks at Derek, more than a little cross-eyed from trying to focus that close. "What?" 

In response, the hedgehog turns his head and stares at the alarm clock on the desk. It's still blinking twelve, because Stiles had totally forgotten to fix it, and he just stares at it, for a second, wondering if that's just a pet peeve of Derek's or something. "The clock...?" he says, squinting at it. What do hedgehogs care about time for, anyway? There's an impatient squeak in his ear, and then something hits him. "Oh, shit, I need to hit the store before dinner." The hedgehog huffs at him, which seems an awful lot like a "finally" to Stiles, and he grins, plucking Derek from his shoulder and setting him down on the desk. "Dude. Were you looking out for me? Trying to remind me of my errands?" The hedgehog just looks at him, and again, that looks like "no shit." 

Stiles is afraid he's getting way too good at interpreting the facial expressions of hedgehogs.

"Dude. That's... just... thanks," Stiles says, unsure how to tell the hedgehog how much he appreciates that. His dad isn't actively giving him shit over how little he's actually doing around town this summer, now that he's got everything set for college in the fall, but Stiles doesn't want to risk changing that because he's forgotten to do the few things his dad actually asks of him. "Hey, I can't take you into the store with me, but I'll be back in less than an hour, okay? Will you be cool hiding under the bed and all?" He gets a nod and a couple of squeaks as answer, and that seems to be that. "All right, cool. I'll see if I can't find you some sort of snack while I'm out. Not cat food, don't worry. Got that message loud and clear before." He sets Derek back onto the floor at the edge of the bed and slips on his shoes and a hoodie. It's been raining since he woke up this morning, and isn't showing any signs of letting up while he's out. "Okay. See you in a little bit," he says, grabbing his keys from his desk and heading out. 

He's almost to the checkout counter when someone pokes him in the shoulder and whispers "boo!" into his ear. "Nice try, but you didn't scare me half as bad as yesterday," he says even without turning around. How weird that he knows Erica's manicured finger-poke solely by touch.

"Aw, take away my fun," she says, mock-pouting when Stiles turns to look at her. "Oh well, there will be other times."

Stiles sighs, pretty sure she'll keep up this game until he finally ends up scared enough to piss himself someday. That's Erica. He's been involved in group cuddles or puppy piles or whatever they want to call it that doesn't make Derek wince, had her smushed up against him after a seriously trying ordeal, but that doesn't mean she's above messing with him because she can. She's frightening in her own right. And she knows it. "Are you following me?"

She snorts. "Yeah, don't flatter yourself, Stilinski. I've far better things to do with my time." She holds up a basket with two pints of ice cream, whipped cream, a jar of cherries, and a bottle each of chocolate and caramel sauce. 

"Dude. I don't want to know what sort of kinky, diabetic-unfriendly shit you and Boyd get up to," Stiles says, wrinkling his nose.

She bops him on the nose. "It's for the girls' night Lydia and I are having," she says, rolling her eyes. "Although, that reminds me..."

"Ugh, I don't want to hear about it." He really, really doesn't. "What's up, then? Why do I get the pleasure of your harassment?"

Erica grins, a little too toothy. "You know you love it. Anyway, I just figured I'd tell you that the witch is gone, after all. Boyd and I checked it out yesterday. She even left a note tacked to the tree where she was camping out. Said she was glad we'd done the smart thing and let her do whatever commune with nature bullcrap she was here for without further incident, apologized for the burn marks on Isaac's jacket, and said she hoped you enjoyed the gift she left for you, whatever the hell that was. We figured the better gift would have been for Derek, if you'd been kept silent, but she apparently had other ideas."

Stiles swallows with a throat that's suddenly dry. So the spell hadn't been waiting for her to leave town before it lifted. Which means he's got no idea what might signal the end of it, or what sort of ending circumstances she'd set when casting it. "Did it say anything else?"

"Nope. That's it. She hopes you like your present, she regrets damaging Isaac's jacket, oh, and she won't be back in the area for another year, to do this pilgrimage thing again." She cocks her head. "You okay? You smell upset."

"I'm fine," he says, not caring that she'll know that was a lie. "I forgot I had a couple of things to do, so I've gotta take off before I get in trouble," he says, and basically bolts for the self-checkout lane before she can ask anymore questions. It's a blessing of sorts that she just stares after him, looking confused, instead of following him and badgering him about what the hell is going on.

He makes it back to the Jeep, everything shoved into the back, before he allows himself a moment to break down. He rests his forehead on the wheel and tries to keep his hands from shaking. It takes a while, but after a couple of minutes of breathing deeply, he feels steadier. He still has no damned idea what to _do_ , and even less of an idea of how to break the news to Derek that the witch is indeed gone, he's still stuck like this, and they might have to wait a year for her to come back to Beacon Hills before this gets fixed.

"All right," he says aloud, fumbling to put the keys in the ignition and start the engine. "All right. That's a talk we can have tomorrow. I just need to sleep on it, figure some shit out. I can do this. We'll get everyone together tomorrow or something, get a game plan. With my brain, and Lydia's, and even Deaton's, we can figure out _something_ , yeah, totally." He takes another deep breath and looks himself in the rearview mirror. "I'll figure out something."


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles gets home without incident, steeling himself for dinner with his dad and the rest of the evening in his room with Derek while acting normal, and manages to greet the hedgehog without freaking out. He gets Derek settled on a chair in the kitchen while Stiles throws together something for dinner (lasagna and garlic bread, plus some steamed vegetables), even deciding to be a nice enough son to allow tonight's dish to include some ground beef and a bit of sausage. He feeds Derek a tiny bit of cooked hamburger, which gets snarfed in a way that has Stiles laughing, and he tries not to think about what it might be like, to have Derek here like this for another fucking _year_. 

He's just getting Derek settled back in the bedroom when his dad's car pulls up, and he walks in, calling out Stiles's name from the front hall. "Yeah, hold on, I'm coming!" Stiles yells down the stairs, then looks at Derek. "Okay, you know the drill. I'm heading down for dinner, you go under the bed, or at least don't wander around by the door where I'll run over you when I come back in. We'll put on a movie or two after dinner, maybe call it an early night." And tomorrow, he can break the news to Derek, and then to the rest of the pack.

"Are you all right?" Stiles's dad asks about ten minutes into dinner. He's come back in a good mood – apparently, the game was a good one, and he and Deputy Gonzales had done some tinkering in the other man's garage workshop for a few hours after, which Stiles hadn't really known his father enjoyed – and has kept up more of the conversation than is usual for them. "You've been quiet tonight."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Stiles says, grabbing another piece of garlic bread and not meeting his father's eye. "I guess I've just been thinking about what it'll be like when I'm down in L.A. for school." That part is true. He's worried his dad will utterly fail to stick to his diet, for one, but he's now also wondering what the hell happens to Derek, in his current state, if Stiles is living on campus. 

His dad gives him a sympathetic look. "It'll be fine, Stiles. Things change, and sometimes you just have to roll with it. It's a part of growing up. And if you're worried about not being here to take care of your old man, don't. I'll follow my diet. Mostly." When Stiles looks up and raises his eyes, his dad grins. "You can't begrudge a man a chili dog now and then, or a slice of pizza and a beer during the Super Bowl." He gets up, takes his empty plate in hand, and claps Stiles on the back with the other. "But everything will be fine. You can't be the one to always take care of everyone. You'll see. It'll all be better than you think." He gives Stiles's shoulder a squeeze and heads into the kitchen with his plate, and Stiles takes a deep breath and pushes his plate away. He knows his dad's right, for the most part, but that's hard to believe in light of recent events. As for Derek, well, his betas will still be around. Deaton's practice isn't going anywhere. And it's only another year, if they're lucky.

God, that's fucked up that that's the "lucky" scenario.

Stiles showers after dinner, then snags a couple of movies from the collection he legally owns and _hasn't_ downloaded and heads for the bed. Derek comes out to greet him, and Stiles scoops him up and settles under the covers with him in the usual spot. "It's a Mel Brooks kind of night," Stiles says by way of explanation when he pops _Blazing Saddles_ into the computer. "Hope you don't mind." Stiles is sort of in the mood for ridiculous humor.

Derek just tucks himself into the hollow between Stiles's shoulder and neck and makes a snuffling sound.

"You know," Stiles murmurs later, as he's exchanging that disc for _Robin Hood: Men in Tights_ , "yesterday, I said that the hedgehog version of you is the total opposite of the regular you. I think I might have been wrong about that."

The hedgehog raises his head and makes an inquiring little noise. Stiles can't even pretend it's not cute.

"Seriously, though. I mean, werewolf Derek is all gruff and cranky and... prickly, on the outside, and the big bad alpha. But he's – you've – also got these vulnerable places, and can be kind of small." Stiles laughs softly to himself. "And I know you're not above a pack cuddle, as a werewolf, and you're kind of weirdly cuddly right now. No getting over some instincts, I guess. I mean, you've ended up essentially nocturnal, because of it. Guess that's not the only drive that wins out."

There's no response for a moment, and then the hedgehog wiggles closer and licks Stiles's shoulder.

"Yeah, like that," Stiles sighs. "I know I give you shit about you not doing a whole lot of that talking thing, but it's weird how much I miss your stupid voice right now, even if you'd only be using it to tell me how stupid I am and demanding I shut up. Anyway, point being, a hedgehog's not the weirdest animal that witch could have chosen or whatever. And I kind of miss your grumpy face, and being able to snark at you. Also, who's gonna save my ass next time we're in the thick of things, if it's not you? Scott's usually being too heroic these days to think about putting me first." He pauses. "Wow, I'm a selfish asshole."

The hedgehog makes another of those sounds that might almost be a laugh, and Stiles gives up and turns his head a little and nuzzles him back. "Yeah, yeah, not news to you, is it? See, another downside of you not being able to talk is that you can't tell me to shut the hell up before I start going all introspective or philosophical or just basically talking out my ass several minutes after a normal person would have closed their damn mouth." Stiles nuzzles the hedgehog again, actually supremely grateful Derek not only allows it, but nuzzles him back.

If only Stiles didn't feel so guilty about the whole situation, and could actually fool himself into thinking the comforting gesture meant something.


	9. Chapter 9

It's apparently stopped raining sometime during the night, because there are some seriously annoying-ass birds outside Stiles's window that are making a fuck-ton of noise, which have managed to rouse him out of an otherwise deep, comforting sleep.

There's something prickly at Stiles's shoulder, and he doesn't even bother to open his eyes this time, because he knows what it is. "You know," he half-slurs, brain still wrapped in fog and fluffy blankets, "it's sort of weirdly nice to wake up with you so close by. Not that I could ever say that to you when you're all intimidating and capable of mauling me and shit. But it's still nice."

There's a soft sigh in Stiles's ear, and a thick-voiced mumbled agreement that accompanies a warm breath against Stiles's shoulder, and Stiles makes an incoherent happy sound and burrows back into the blanket.

And then snaps his eyes open, because, holy shit, that had been a _human_ voice, and human-sized sigh, and that is not the feeling of hedgehog quills against his bare skin, that is _stubble_.

" _Holy shit!"_ Stiles shouts, totally forgetting that his dad might very well be in the next room, and scrambles upright, nearly tumbling off the edge of the bed in his panic. He whirls around to see an utterly confused-looking Derek Hale scrambling to the opposite side of the bed, the blankets clutched around him protectively. "What the fuck is going on?" he hisses, finally remembering that it might not be a great idea to bring his dad running, with the scene currently set up this way: Stiles shouting, a naked dude in his bed, first thing in the morning.

Naked dude.

"Fuck dude, are you totally naked?" Stiles blurts, and Derek's quick flush as he looks down at himself is confirmation enough. "Wait, let's take a step back. More importantly, holy shit, you're _you_ again."

"Yeah," Derek says, his voice full of doubt and hesitancy. He still hasn't lost that panicked look on his face. He brings one hand, the one not clutching for dear life at the blankets, to his face and touches his nose, mouth, chin, ears, and then runs the hand through his hair. "I am," he says, sounding seriously confused.

"Oh shit, okay, first, please, _please_ don't kill me for anything I've said or done in the last few days, okay? I swear, it's really hard not to pet something that adorable, and it was sort of easy to forget you can usually just end my life with a couple of quick moves, and I just really don't want you to rip my throat out," Stiles says, aware he's babbling, but unable to help it, because not once in all his thinking about getting this whole situation fixed has he thought about the possibility of Derek ending up naked in his bed.

In any other circumstances, he'd have kept that as a nice, semi-delusional daydream.

"I'm not going to rip your throat out," Derek says, a hint of a shocked smile flitting across his still-surprised face. "That hasn't been a legitimate threat in almost a _year_ , you know that, you idiot. Besides, I stopped talking about your throat when I realized I wanted my mouth on it for completely different reas– ohmygod," he says, interrupting himself and looking horrified.

Stiles is still processing that last bit. "Wait, what?"

"Nothing. I didn't say anything."

"No, you said something, all right," Stiles says slowly, cocking his head. He's still mostly in the bed, and now he settles more fully onto the mattress. "What do you mean, you wanted your mouth on my throat?" He's got an irrational hope going here, but he can't voice it. He'd admitted to Derek before that he thinks he's hot, thanks to one drunken night last year, and Derek hadn't said a damned thing, other than to look at him funny and tell him to switch to water and sober up. And yeah, Stiles has had some inappropriate little fantasies, but never has he entertained the possibility of a mutual attraction, because that's fucking insane.

Derek's Adam's apple bobs a few times before words make it out of his mouth. "I've been free to think and say whatever I want for the last few days without you understanding me and judging me, and now I think it's better if I never, ever talk again," he croaks.

"I told you last night I missed your stupid voice," Stiles says, shaking his head, "and you get it back and then vow silence. Yeah, way to be contrary. Also, back up. I want to hear about this throat thing."

"Not in a million years am I repeating that," Derek says, looking like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him. 

"Are you saying you're attracted to me?" Stiles presses, and then gets an idea. "Just spit it out and answer, otherwise I _will_ tell everyone you had to use a litter box, and that you snuggled with me at night and slept in my shirt _because it smelled like me_ oh my god, you're into me, you emotionally constipated asshole."

Derek just looks at him helplessly. It's even more pathetic and adorable than it would have been from the hedgehog. "You don't have to – I mean, it doesn't mean any – I understand if you don't – "

Nope, Stiles is not letting that shit fly. He's suddenly fucking giddy, because one, his ridiculously-out-of-his-league crush that's been off and on for over a year has admitted attraction, and two, Derek is _not_ stuck as some helpless little pet and that's a _huge_ fucking worry gone, right there. He launches himself across the bed and basically pins Derek into place. "Just shut the hell up, don't you ruin this. Oh my God, that means all those nuzzles were really you under there, and not just hedgehog stuff, doesn't it?" Derek just blushes harder. "You really are sweet and soft and vulnerable under the prickly exterior," Stiles laughs, and then he's leaning forward and kissing Derek.

Derek goes completely still, just long enough for Stiles to start to think he's totally misread this whole thing, and then he's kissing Stiles back, wrapping his arms around Stiles's waist and holding him close, and Stiles would totally get up and do a victory dance, if he weren't otherwise occupied in more pleasurable pursuits.

"That witch totally _did_ give me a present!" Stiles says when they finally break away, and Derek groans.

"Now I'm wishing she really had kept your voice," he mumbles, his face pressed into Stiles's shoulder.

"Liar," Stiles says, grinning. "But I'm thinking, all things considered, we can keep this whole hedgehog thing a secret. Our first inside joke, as a couple. If, you know, what's what we are."

"Works for me," Derek mumbles, nosing at Stiles's collarbone. "Believe me, it's not something I'm eager to share with everyone." He lifts his head. "Though I really am grateful for all you did to keep me safe. Including not bailing and leaving me at Deaton's."

Stiles shakes his head. "Dude. I told you. We've had each other's back too often for me to even remotely feel like that's okay. You've saved my ass, I return the favor when I can. Even if that's just feed you and keep you from getting eaten and give you a place to sleep. I care about your welfare, dumbass, all joking and sarcasm aside. I thought you'd figured that out sometime in the last couple of years." He looks Derek in the eye. "I mean, I know I said Fate's had a thing about kicking you in the balls and all, but seriously, someone's gotta have your back, right?"

"And you do," Derek says softly, looking less surprised and more grateful, like it's finally sinking in.

"And I do," Stiles confirms. He leans in and kisses Derek again. "Furry, prickly, or bronzed and tattooed, I've got your back."

"Oh my God, really?" Derek huffs, though Stiles doesn't miss the smile on his face.

"Really," Stiles echoes, shifting in Derek's lap. He tilts his head to the side and bares his neck, leaning forward until Derek's nose and mouth are pressed against his pulse point. Derek moans. "Now let's let you have what you want, now that you're you again." When Derek breathes deeply and runs his tongue over Stiles's skin, Stiles laughs softly. "Gotta say, dude, this is a lot better with you in this form. The hedgehog just didn't do it for me."

Derek nips at Stiles's neck, his next words muffled. "I still say that witch could have kept your voice a little longer."

Wrapping his arms around Derek's neck, Stiles huffs. "Yeah, well, it was me she wanted to give the present to. Though I'm telling you, I think this might have just turned out all right for the both of us."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://khasael.tumblr.com/), if you'd like to say hi! :)


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